


The Trapper's Trap

by zoom



Category: Dragons: Riders of Berk (Cartoon), How to Train Your Dragon (2010)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Bondage, Dubious Consent, Gags, M/M, Oral Sex, Rimming, Rough Sex, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-11
Updated: 2014-03-11
Packaged: 2018-01-15 08:12:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1297738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoom/pseuds/zoom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Somewhere, way far in the back of Hiccup’s mind, he’d noticed all the little red flags, and known exactly what they’d meant. But it wasn’t something he’d consciously realized until the young man above him started claiming his open mouth in a sharp, spirited kiss."</p><p>An alternate take on what happened between Hiccup and Dagur on Dragon Island. Hint: it's sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Trapper's Trap

            Vikings have never been that big on personal space. For as long as Hiccup could remember, no Viking had ever hesitated to butt right into someone else’s ‘bubble.’ Particularly into _his_ kind of small-for-a-Viking bubble. So Hiccup was pretty used to beefy, hairy encounters of the up-close and much too personal variety.

            But despite a lifetime of good-natured pushing, grabbing and backslapping, Hiccup’s basically privacy-free childhood still failed to prepare the Hooligan heir for his next run-in with the young Berserker chief.

            See, for starters, Dagur and Hiccup had a history. A history of the not so good-natured kind. In fact, it was really more of the unmanly-shriek-inducing kind. Usually involving weapons. Or, you know, near-death scenarios.

            Not that Hiccup didn’t have plenty of experience in _that_ area... but at least it was usually an _accident_. Or a brilliant plan that went down not so brilliantly...

            It certainly wasn’t everyday that someone just plain got their _kicks_ trying to terrify the living daylights out of Hiccup. Which was kind of the routine with the Hooligan and Berserker heirs ever since they were little( _r_ ).

            Hiccup really didn’t know what he’d expected their next meeting to be like... after tricking Dagur to keep the dragons safe, honestly he’d kind of hoped he’d never have to meet the psychotic chief again.

            But the gods had this charming habit of making sure everything he privately hoped _wouldn’t_ happen, _did_. So he probably shouldn’t have even been surprised to find, of all people, _Dagur_ ,camping in the wilderness of Dragon Island. Right smack in the middle of a training exercise with the rider academy that separated Hiccup from Toothless, too.

            Odin was probably having a hearty guffaw with his sons. Yeah, _hilarious_ , guys...

            But whatever Hiccup might’ve guessed about the fateful cross of paths on Dragon Island, he would _never_ have seen _this_ coming.

            From the second the Berserker recognized the little dragon rider in his campground, Dagur was suddenly... _affectionate_?

            In a very _Dagur_ way, of course. Hiccup didn’t really think it was _possible_ before now, but even compared to Viking standards of sociability, the chief had even _less_ respect for personal space, and _less_ of an ability to interpret very clear _‘hello-yes-please-don’t-thanks’_ expressions. The Berserker pulled his hair, laughed off every awkward half-protest from the other Viking, and dragged Hiccup around like a favorite toy between too-tight hugs and grabbing his hand for _way_ too long.

            _What_ even...??

            If Hiccup didn’t know any better... something about Dagur’s too-friendly touches reminded him a little of Astrid? Just, it was kind of like those few moments right before she’d yanked him into a kiss, or actually threw her arms around him and gave him a protective squeeze. But if anything, Dagur seemed even _more_... well... what was the word, _close_? Or maybe _demanding_?

            Hiccup... was kind of at a loss. It was _weird_ , and it made him a little... tense? But there didn’t seemto be any real _harm_ in it... and in the past, it generally wasn’t the best idea to disagree with Dagur, or get in the way of anything he wanted. So if what he wanted was to switch up the routine from knife-practice to most-hugs-of-the-year... then Hiccup might as well _go_ with it.

            But then the weirdness _skyrocketed_.

            Dagur leapt off the log by the campfire, re-enacting Hiccup’s “heroism” back during the Berserker’s last visit to Berk.

            “And then you were like, ‘Save yourself!’ And I was like, ‘Whoa!’”

            The psychotic chief waved around dramatically, his sole audience member slightly unnerved, more than a little understated in his miffed “why me” expression, and two-hundred percent done trying to predict his new “brother”’s next total breach of privacy.

            “And that Night Fury just went—!”

            As it turned out, the next breach started with a lunge. It continued with a slam from Hiccup’s seat on the log to the ground behind it. And it wasn’t even close to ending when Dagur’s grip shoved down on Hiccup’s skinny wrists, and his armored-body straddled the gangly rider’s.

            “How’d you get out of that one, brother?” Dagur asked, innocent curiosity in his tone, but something a good deal more _discomfiting_ in his eyes.

            There was a momentary spluttering while Hiccup tried to get his head around the sudden position change, and to get himself _not_ to panic at having Dagur pinning him down because no, Dagur _didn’t_ want to hurt him (for a change). This was totally fine and a normal thing that people did... okay no it wasn’t, but in all fairness it was probably a normal thing for _insane_ people to do...

            “Uh-hh, well, you know, I think that, that was about when the um... the others came and got me out of that, that sticky uh... situation...”

            While Hiccup answered, Dagur seemed to be having trouble keeping a halfway reasonable distance above him. He was pressing down more and more on the skinnier teen, and his face was getting _uncomfortably_ close to Hiccup’s. That more than alarming look in the Berserker’s eyes was getting brighter by the second, his maniacal grin slackening. And Hiccup was starting to wish the others would be so kind as to come and get him out of _this_ decidedly sticky situation, when all distance between the two Viking heir’s faces was suddenly sealed.

            Somewhere, way far in the back of Hiccup’s mind, he’d noticed all the little red flags, and known _exactly_ what they’d meant. But it wasn’t something he’d _consciously_ realized until the young man above him started claiming his open mouth in a sharp, spirited _kiss_.

            Well, actually, his consciousness didn’t really catch up to what was happening until a good few seconds of the forceful lip clashing. There was a blink or two, a brief inability to produce any coherent thought aside from “ _what”_ , and a vague signal running through his chest and down his spine that something was happening here, and his body seemed to have a pretty good idea _what_ even if his head didn’t yet.

            The second his head caught up, Hiccup instantly squirmed and managed to break out of the lip-lock. He even wrangled a hand out of Dagur’s hold.

            “Wh- _whoa_!” he gasped, making every attempt to scoot away from the Berserker holding him down. But since Hiccup couldn’t get out from under him, the only direction to wriggle in was downward. And unfortunately, his best efforts still didn’t succeed in burrowing himself beneath the earth like a Fishbone Class Whispering Death.

            “Th-that—okay, _that_ was—sfwaah... _whoa_ ,” he repeated gawkily, frantically lifting his free palm in a universal ‘time the fuck out’ sign.

            Now that his brain was more or less back up and running, it was doing so about 500 miles over its recommended speed limit. So it was having slight difficulty sorting out the mess of thoughts and sensations shooting through it with reckless momentum.

            One part of him was listing what he _knew_. And he knew Dagur was dangerous. He knew Dagur was a dragon killer, and that how Dagur was treating him right now was based on a _lie_.

            He also knew Dagur had a very, very hard time accepting the answer, “no.” He also knew he couldn’t beat him in hand-to-hand combat, not without help or some kind of leverage. He also knew while Dagur probably wouldn’t _try_ to hurt his ‘brother’ if they had a _disagreement_ , his definition of “hurt” might differ just a little from Hiccup’s. And he also knew that the minute he let Dagur leave this campsite, he’d be going back to what he was doing before Hiccup waltzed in – dragon hunting.

            Simultaneously, another part of Hiccup was noticing what he _felt_ right this second. And what he felt was... _new_. The unthinking part of him wasn’t registering Dagur, the psychotic Berserker chief, but a _man_ , a solid body pressed against his, warm breath and skin and a dominating touch that evoked the same tingles Astrid’s did.

            Only Astrid always let him go. And he never worked up the resolve to pull her back.

            But Dagur, the young man thicker than Tuffnut, leaner than Snotlout, taller than Fishlegs and more physically _powerful_ than all of them combined, _wasn’t letting go_. All Hiccup’s most intimate moments with Astrid were vigorous and controlling, but so _brief_. And now all the same thrill of those moments was right here, _elongated_ ,in the grip now snagging in his hair and possessively yanking, promising to run a course much deeper than Astrid’s touch ever dared.

            And besides the size difference, and the general firmness where Astrid was usually softer, Hiccup’s body wasn’t finding much of a discrepancy between a female’s touch and a male’s right about now. They definitely weren’t the same, but apparently they were _both_ capable of getting a _very_ favorable physical reaction out of him.

            Even if one of them happened to belong to a first class nutjob.

            So rational thought completely aside, what Hiccup _felt_ on a strictly physical level was... well, it was a touch of _excitement_. The _good_ kind, crazily enough. The kind that really never got any attention from him except in his precious few private moments in bed, while Toothless snored and the window shudders creaked and his blankets shifted swiftly in the dark.

            And the explorer in him was always desperate to pursue whatever was new, whatever was different or adrenaline pounding. That part of him only fed the wildly irrational chills urging him to stay still, stay where he was under Dagur, and just let what was coming happen.

            _Another_ part of him still was rifling through his _options_ , fighting past the conflict between his body and his mind to _strategize_. And this part of him knew there were really only two choices – resist, or succumb.

            He could try to escape. Maybe if he caught Dagur off-guard, it would be enough to break free of him and run. If he could make it to the cave from here, he could get to Toothless...

            ...But that would lead Dagur right to his best friend. And what about the other Vikings and _their_ dragons, would there be a chance to warn them about Dagur?

            Maybe he could hide... but if Dagur went looking for him, what if he found dragons in his stead? Would Hiccup’s concealment risk their harm?

            He could fight. Maybe if he could reach his shield, and get a solid shot... maybe he could _entrap_ Dagur.

            ...But as the Hooligan heir, outright fighting the Berserker chief risked war.

            It was possible he could _trick_ Dagur – again. There might be something the chief wanted _more_ than – than _this_.

            ...That would be dragon killing, wouldn’t it?

            Or... there was option two. Just allowing this to happen. He could keep Dagur from hunting dragons, explore this physical newness that honestly intrigued him, and _not_ get himself killed or start a tribal-wide conflict.

            Dagur was grinning, a low, airy chuckle in his throat while he pulled the other boy’s face closer to his by the hair. “Don’t fight it, brother,” he said darkly over Hiccup’s wincing lips. His fingers dug crushingly around a little wrist. “It’s gonna feel so good...”

            “Wh—so just, just what would you mean by ‘it,’ e-exactly...?”

            All the different pieces of Hiccup were still a little hectic. His rational side warned loudly of the danger he might be facing if he actually tried to roll with this, his instinctive side predicting this all was going to get a little _rough_ however he tried to slice it, his strategic side not enough to completely quell the justifiable _panic_ always on the back-burner, despite his curiosity and excitement.

            And it was a very honest question he’d just asked, because he could never tell how _far_ Dagur was going to take things. As kids, sometimes he’d threaten and threaten and only fake a single knife-throw, laughing his head off at the flinch it provoked. Other times he threw whole handfuls without warning. Usually his knives just missed the Hooligan, but sometimes they nicked skin. Hiccup got the feeling he missed on purpose, only grazing him to let him know he _could_ , if he felt like it...

            So it was anyone’s guess just what Dagur was trying to pull here. Was he just going to tease and touch all night, or take this course as far as it could go?

            And well, okay the truth was, Hiccup wasn’t exactly a hundred percent sure what the farthest point _was_ between two guys... though he definitely had a couple _ideas_ , he hadn’t thought about it a whole lot before. Sure would’ve been nice if a read-this-first manual came included with every gay encounter with deranged childhood bullies in the woods...

            Dipping in against Hiccup’s face, Dagur’s teeth snagged loosely over a small bite of a freckled cheek. “Me,” he growled in reply as he let go.

            “ _Okay_...” the dragon rider said wryly. Because maybe in _psychotongue_ that answer made _perfect sense_... and he was still deciding whether Dagur’s interesting maneuvers with his teeth were downright _rabid_ , oooooorrr kinda appealing? Possibly both??

            Hiccup’s free hand was balled slightly by his face, not quite relaxed enough to fall limp, but making no move to push the older boy away. While the Berserker’s mouth made its nipping way down to the Hooligan’s chin, the smaller youth’s face was torn between fascination and incredulity.

            A jerk back on Hiccup’s hair exposed his slight neck to Dagur’s ravenous bites and kisses and licks – okay the licking Hiccup could maybe stand less of, that kind of tickled. The biting got sharper, too, hard enough to make Hiccup shift involuntarily, and to make keeping his shaky voice in check a bit of a challenge...

            Honestly, each chomp down on his skin, and tug of his hair and increase of pressure from the body above his... they were beginning to light little sparks in Hiccup’s blood, like the slow build of flame in a dragon’s throat before its fiery insides were ready to detonate.

            A little whine, breathy and abrupt, fumbled out of the pinned dragon rider. And the dragon killer suddenly released Hiccup’s wrist and hair, going instead for the end of the boy’s tunic. For a cringing second, the Hooligan thought Dagur was going to rip his shirt _apart_ , the way the Berserker’s grip toreat it. Geez, it was a _shirt_ , not an _opponent_!

            Like a hungry beast skinning its kill, Dagur wrenched the green tunic rim up until it bunched under his catch’s chin, baring a pale, bony torso. It was marked with old scars and fading bruises, largely from Hiccup slamming into the ground due to one mishap or another. But to the young chief, these must have seemed like marks of honor, battle wounds from glorious dragon fights.

            Dagur dove in teeth-first for a clavicle, reaching his grip around the boy’s lower back and hauling it up slightly above the cool prickles of grass beneath them. While the Berserker chewed and sucked away at freckled skin like a wolf on a bone, Hiccup’s hands instinctively went to Dagur’s metal padded shoulders – not to pull him closer or even just to grip onto something, but to push Dagur _back_. But the Hooligan didn’t. Instead he repeated to himself, just go with it, just go with it, just _go_ with it…

            The cohesion to Hiccup’s thoughts suddenly shattered when the Berserker’s mouth surrounded a nipple. His tongue lapped mercilessly at the sensitive nub, and the sensation it shot through the younger boy almost _hurt_ in its intensity.

            Hiccup actually _lurched_. His head whipped to the side, eyes squinting half-shut, and a fist rose to stifle the shrill moan in his throat. Mostly because the terrifying thought finally occurred to him, _what if the others found them_?

            Any _earlier_ than this, and one of the other riders showing up might have been _really_ swell. But _now_?? Now could not be a worse time (or so Hiccup somewhat naively assumed…).

            So less to save face, and more to decrease the chances of someone _hearing_ his strained voice, Hiccup unfolded his fist and clamped the palm over his mouth.

            The young man’s hot licks and teeth grazes finally moved, downward, and Dagur shifted his weight off of Hiccup’s left hip to reach all the way down to his lower belly. Then with Nadder-like speed, the Berserker yanked suddenly on the boy’s trousers. They were plucked completely from his twiggy legs in an instant, boot flung from his one foot in the process – the fabric didn’t even snag on his prosthetic.

            Oooookaaay, _this_ was plunging into the deep end _waaay_ too fast! Just like when they were kids…

            “Aghfk—h-hey?!!”

            For a few beats, Hiccup’s self-conscious surprise completely overrode his somewhat calculated compliance. He tried to close his legs and shift himself away in a protective ball. Because this was _not_ a kind of privacy he was used to just giving up, least of all to a self-proclaimed crusher of skulls, thank you!!

            Fortunately—if _that_ was really the word for it—Dagur didn’t appear the least put off by Hiccup’s wide eyes and instinctive scrambling for decency. The young chief simply tore off his helmet and tossed it aside, freed hair slightly matted and frizzy around a woven band. Forcing open lightly freckled thighs, Dagur threw Hiccup’s good leg over his shoulder easily as an empty fish basket, bare flesh up against metal and leather. And the Berserker hunkered down, dipping face-first in between the dragon rider’s legs…

            “Uhhh whaaat are you—”

            But then Dagur’s mouth did something that broke the smaller Viking’s voice into a started yell, both hands clapping up to smother the sound.

            Everything Hiccup knew about… about _this_ kind of thing… came from one _tremendously_ awkward conversation with his dad, and from speculative talk among his peers. But Stoick only covered the basics of how to make a baby (in the absolute most embarrassing way possible, obviously), and his peers only volunteered to share their own knowledge _after_ Hiccup got past the whole “worst Viking” stigma. Aaaand Hiccup kind of preferred to opt out of those TMI sessions, especially since the primary (self-appointed) specialists were Snotlout and Tuffnut. _Not_ the most credible instructors…

            So outside of maybe a little _handiwork_ , foreplay was basically uncharted waters for the Hooligan teenager.

            When the Berserker’s mouth greedily enclosed the boy’s half-erect manhood, Hiccup twitched violently at the slurping hold around _deeply_ sensitive flesh. The smaller Viking tried to keep control over the shaky gasps behind his palms, but it looked like that was shaping up to be a losing battle. Within a few blinding moments, he swelled to full hardness in the young man’s mouth, _shaking_ with the effort to _not_ thrash and yell, that’s how _ridiculously_ good it felt!

            It wasn’t anything like his own hands… he couldn’t predict what Dagur’s tongue or lips or the arc of his mouth were about to do. Was he was going suck at him hard, or just ripple his tongue at the underside of Hiccup’s flesh? Or pull back up to the head and tease the foreskin with his lips, one hand tugging sharply at the bristly base, the other digging a rough grip into Hiccup’s raised calf and _pulling_ , stretching the boy wide open beneath him.

            There was so much to take in at once – the heat, the slippery glide of saliva, the pressure on the inside of his thigh, and the searing squeeze of Dagur’s hold on him and the crinkling grass against his bare, squirming back, and cool air on his burning skin, and-and- _and_ —

            Actually, part of the Hooligan was a little bummed that he was in no state whatsoever to take notes… not that he’d be _forgetting_ this anytime soon, but then again every sensation was so throbbingly intense, he had a hard time paying much attention to the actual mechanics of it, which he’d be _really_ curious to get to know better. However right about now he was – kind of – losi n g—ii it???

            The sounds he was making started popping and clicking like the beginnings of words that started to scream out, but died away at the first syllable. He didn’t have any conscious phrases in his emptying head, just an odd sort of _need_ rising up in him to say _something_ , to blurt out a rambling commentary on everything he was feeling. But then see, that would require a measurable degree of mental coherence. So instead all that came out were the half-word noises that made zero sense and came across as almost gaggy, “Gahsdfl”-type sounds.

            But Dagur’s mouth showed him a whole new level of shocking, unfamiliar, but also kind of _amazing_ , when his lips let go of the mid-teen’s cock, and dug lower, past the bulbous sac at the base and right to...

            “Whafldja-hang on, hang on, _haaang on_!” Hiccup freaked, just a little. Shock was what hit first, and hard. It was enough for him to start pushing his palms at the top of Dagur’s bowed head, trying to get it away from someplace a mouth _really_ had no business being! “ _Thaaat_ doesn’t, _really_ doesn’t seem ahhh, all that uh, _cleeeaaan_ , heha, I mean…??”

            Light rumbles of the Berserker’s distinctive, ‘why yes I _am_ mentally unstable, thanks’ cackle pressed just above the Hooligan’s engorged privates. “Are you saying you’re feeling _dirty_ , Hiccup?” he almost _cooed_ , taking hold if the smaller boy’s only half-real leg, just under the knee, and hiking it up and forward like its fuller twin. The position left the area Hiccup was trying to talk Dagur _away_ from even more accessible to the redhead.

            His knobby knees were almost up against his own ribs, right ankle and set of toes fidgeting uneasily. “Uh-ha, _no_ , nnooo I’m saying that cannot _possibly_ —uhh—well—doesn’t it… ya know… kinda got a… _strong_ … taste?”

            It wasn’t so much that the idea repulsed him or made him anxious, as it was simply that it was so _foreign_. And on the one hand, yeah he was trying to talk Dagur out of it, on the other, he really was just curious to know _why_ the young man was going for that in the first place, in spite of the grime associated with it...

            Of course, this was Dagur. The guy actually had the word “deranged” in his title… maybe Hiccup shouldn’t be looking too deep into it.

            To the young teen’s surprise, Dagur sat up. He looked half-amused, half… chiding? And he started undoing the Skrill-engraved belt around his middle.

            Hiccup’s legs were released—probably only temporarily—and allowed to fall clumsily around Dagur’s kneeling form. Watching the Berserker work off the leather strap made the Hooligan’s skin flush, the organ between his legs pulsating heavily with blood usually reserved for his brain. _That_ organ was doing its best, despite the redirected blood, to process all the implications of the older boy’s gesture, trying to project what could happen next…

            By now, Hiccup should’ve expected the _un_ expected with Dagur.

            The chief whipped the belt out of its placing, and bore down with it over Hiccup. “I like your Funny, Hiccup,” he murmured, _fondly_. His hands reached around and under auburn locks before Hiccup had much chance to react. An alarmingly fervent grin suggested mischief – and Dagur’s idea of mischief was a little closer to other people’s idea of _insanity_. “But let’s put it _away_ for a while…”

            Leather slid across the dragon rider’s cheek, around the back of his head, and was suddenly tight over his _mouth_. Muffled objections, and small hands rapping up on Dagur’s chest, did nothing to stop him from fastening the buckle just over the lobe of Hiccup’s left ear. The breath from the Hooligan’s nose drew in and out fast and frantic, and he dared even to glare at the other boy, he was so taken off-guard.

            Dagur only laughed again, seeming to find the anger endearing. Snatching up the palms slapping half-heartedly at his armor (because one, Hiccup was usually the guy to try warning or coaxing someone back before actually throwing his all into a struggle, and two, disgruntling as this was, he still didn’t think actually _hitting_ Dagur was such a great idea…), the chief pinned them back like he did earlier, and lowered himself between Hiccup’s legs.

            A sharp inhale and falling eyelids dismantled the rider’s glare. Clothed flesh jerked against his thigh, heavy friction rocking over his own exposed cock. And the leather gag went from an annoyance, to just a constant pressure over his lips, a stifle tighter than his hands, something to groan against and feel the vibrations from his own desperate noises push back at him…

            Huh. Well that... he was kind of… yeah okay, so it was kind of _cool_ to feel that restraint, and the unyielding stimulant for his lips. Interesting… he would _not_ have called that gagging would be a plus. Although, it would’ve been really _nice_ to be _asked_ first. That didn’t exactly seem to be Dagur’s style, did it? Well, some would call it _style_ , and some might point to the lack of mental health. Seriously though, Dagur was really beginning to push it with the _let’s-not-ask-first-because-that-would-be-sane_ thing…

            But Hiccup reminded himself before panic could flare again, he was making a choice. He could still get out of this if he had to—he wasn’t sure how, especially now that _talking_ Dagur down was a cut-off escape route. But there had to be something, some vulnerability he could exploit, if this really did get ugly…

            He wasn’t a captive. He was _allowing_ his own captivity.

            That made all the difference.

            Dagur stopped and sat back again, digging at a pouch over his tunic and drawing out a bola from it. The cord was thick enough to hold a dragon, the metal weights at the ends heavy enough to trip even a Gronkle and keep it grounded…

            And Hiccup still couldn’t even swing one of those.

            Dragon riding had built a little extra strength in his thighs and, well, the seat area in general. But he still forged with small, relatively light hammers, and had to throw his whole weight into working the furnace. His hands were steady, and tougher than they appeared, but Hiccup’s upper body strength lay mostly in his shoulders. Otherwise, there wasn’t much to his stringy arms… or tiny wrists.

            “You don’t have to _go_ , right?” Dagur asked randomly, pulling the rope taut in his hands.

            It took a couple blinks to decide that yes, yes Dagur was really asking this right now. The boy shook his head slowly, wary eyes on the rope. It took yet another blink or two to make the connection between the question, and just what part of Hiccup’s body the deranged chief’s recent attention had been set on…

            “Good.”

            Hiccup’s hands were still lying up by his head, palms curled slightly towards him. As the little Hooligan heir was beginning to fear would happen, the rope descended – Dagur roughly clasped the boy’s wrists together and started winding the throw-weapon around them. The rider shook his head rapidly and kicked a little, releasing a loud whine under the belt.

            If anything, the man’s grin turned even more delighted. Like the gagged protests were adorable as an infant’s moody squeals. He leaned down to the distressed face. “Stay here,” he instructed, giving a crazy giggle at the redundancy before shoving back and jumping to his feet, moseying back near the campsite fire.

            Hiccup’s half-bare chest rose and fell at a desperate pace, his calls after the Berserker no more articulate than pleading moans.

            Green eyes closed, auburn brows tensed, and when Hiccup’s eyes opened again, they were at a determined squint.

            Okay… okay. First thing, he had to do was calm down, just _calm down_ … he couldn’t do this if he couldn’t _think_.

            Dagur was stripping him of everything. One by one, first decency, then speech, now _mobility_ … and that was the one that actually scared him. Without free hands, with the weight making even leaving this spot next to impossible, there was no more kidding himself about who had the upper hand (no pun intended…).

            He wasn’t getting out of this… the point of no return had flown right by the Hooligan heir, and now whatever Dagur wanted was just going to happen, whether _Hiccup_ wanted it to or not.

            Was it still even a choice at this point?

            Maybe not… but it didn’t help anything to freak out about it. He was the one who let it get this far, who didn’t lift a finger to stop it up to now. He’d known there was a danger, known anything could happen… he chose everything up to this point, and if this was the hand he was getting he just had to play it.

            Dagur hadn’t hurt him yet… hadn’t exactly shown award-winning consideration either, but it was nothing Hiccup couldn’t handle. What really bothered the boy wasn’t even just the possibility of getting hurt, but the total lack of any control, the absolute submission he was being pushed further and further into… by _Dagur_. By a guy he really didn’t _trust_ , or respect or feel any kind of affinity towards on any level!

            …Well okay, except the physical. The physical level he did have to give to Dagur, that one he actually scored pretty decent marks on.

            But that _alone_ didn’t mean he was just honky-dory not having a way of _stopping_ him if he wanted to. Or, as Hiccup would learn about later, at least having a damn _safety signal_ like _normal_ people!

            Well… there wasn’t anything to _do_ about that. Simply no _point_ in getting upset. And up to now, fooling around with Dagur was proving not just informative, but, well, _enjoyable_ , actually. So if Hiccup just relaxed, just tried to forget for two seconds _whom_ he was with here, and at least _tried_ to trust him… this should still turn out okay.

            He could still make the most of what may be one of the riskiest rides he’d ever undertaken… and you know what, so what if he didn’t have any physical control? That’s not where a rider’s strength lies, anyway. Dagur could gag and tie and pleasure him to his crazy heart’s content, and damn it, Hiccup would just throw his head back and bask in every second of it.

            If he wanted his body, hey, he could _have_ it, and with Hiccup’s blessing (because wow that was a really great thing he did back there with his mouth, whoa). But Hiccup was the one with an ulterior motive. Hiccup was the one with secrets, the one _distracting_ Dagur from his initial goal, the one with two faces but showing only one, the _fake_ one.

            In a way, he still _did_ have the upper hand… because even if he didn’t trust Dagur, Dagur trusted _him_.

            The rider never _physically_ controls his dragon – he coaxes it, he guides it, he gains its trust until it _wants_ to go the same direction the rider wants it to.

            And maybe this was going to be a rocky direction, and maybe Hiccup no longer had any reigns. But he _was_ moving away from dragon-killing, away from tribal conflict and (hopefully) from immediate personal harm. So it _was_ where Hiccup wanted to go… and where really _he_ was _making_ Dagur take them.

            So Hiccup’s hyperventilating breath began to calm, a little nervous energy still buzzing in him, but a renewed, stubborn confidence edging off the worst of the disgruntled alarm.

            Dagur leapt back over with a leather canteen and a small, small bottle. Skidding to a halt and practically slamming down onto his knees—making Hiccup scramble to get his legs out of the way—the man scooted in close and dropped the items he’d brought to the side, propping up the boy’s already open legs like he had before. Once both were hooked up over an elbow and a shoulder, Dagur got out the canteen and pried off the stopper with his teeth, pouring a dab of what just looked like water on his forefinger.

            There was about a two second, vague-as-hell warning, which came in the form of a quick squeeze on his bum. Then Dagur’s wet finger was down, and rubbing firmly at the soft, lightly hair-rimmed folds of an opening Hiccup had always thought of as an _outward_ passageway more than _inward_ …

            It was a surprising little series of tingles. More uh, _stimulating_ than Hiccup would’ve guessed. He jerked automatically at the unfamiliar kind of caresses, though, which only made Dagur press harder, digging a little further and further before easing back between each push, systematically, following a tiny, thrust-like rhythm.

            Just as Hiccup began to warm up to the circling, somewhat gently (considering it was Dagur) pumping touch, the Berserker seemed to have used up whatever patience he possessed, and the finger suddenly shoved about a third of itself into Hiccup.

            Really, more than anything, it was just… startling! The partway-inserted digit stung a bit, but not much more than uncovered extremities in sharp winds. And as not just a native of a nine-month-winter island, or a guy who tended to forgo bundling up to save time (or just forgot), but a _dragon rider_ , Hiccup was used to little pangs and nips as just part of the well-worth-it _ride_ …

            After a few quick churns and wiggles, the finger was out almost as soon as it stuck in. Dagur flicked it relatively dry, and got his devious grin back down between Hiccup’s legs, an image that alone began to perk his somewhat weakened arousal. A tongue lapped up at his cock teasingly, making the teen practically whinny, upper body arcing just a little. But the Berserker’s mouth went down further, again, to where his finger had just tidied a bit with water.

            The first few seconds, Hiccup couldn’t help tensing, and whining softly in his throat. _This_ had to have the most _devastating_ potential for utter and total embarrassment. He did not even want to _think_ about all the ways this could go so completely _wrong_ …

            So he didn’t. The little Viking just reminded himself to keep breathing, and gave his best shot at pushing away any and all preemptive paranoia about this. And the thick, licking warmth against and soon partly _inside_ him made it easier and easier to just let his muscles loosen, and his head lull back and eyes fall shut, and the fingers of his bound hands above his head tightened and released at evermore spastic intervals.

            When Hiccup began to let go of the context, just the raw sensation itself of being forced _down_ , upper limbs stretched and useless, lips muzzled, and what felt a little like deep, heavy kisses over and into his other end… it had a kind of melting effect on him. It started fusing anxious undertones in his head into a single, louder and louder thought – gods, _yes_.

            But the “kisses” didn’t last long. At the first pips of a couple leather-stifled moans, the Berserker started backtracking. Hiccup almost groaned in _annoyance_ at how fast Dagur was bouncing from one thing to the next. Could he not just _pick_ something and _stick_ withthat??

            Carelessly bumping and squeezing Hiccup’s legs as he bustled between them, the young chieftain reached for the little bottle he’d brought over, plucked off its lid, and started shaking out some kind of thick, oily salve into his palm. Setting the open bottle aside, Dagur started messing with the front of his trousers. Hiccup could only hear the rustling at first, but then the Bersker rose slightly and gave the Hooligan a front-row-seat view of……. of……

            …Okay, well Hiccup’s first thought was literally, _Oh. That’s a cock. Huh._

The second thought was a little more elaborate: _Wow, that’s pretty different from mine, it’s got like an upward curve, and the head is – oh good gods, it’s kind of like a_ spearhead _, jeeeeez… yeah mine is… just kind of round and… sheesh_.. _._

             Third thought: _That’s… that’s kinda **big** , isn’t it...?_

            While Hiccup was guessing at Dagur’s dimensions, the Berserker dunked his fingers in the little pool of ointment he was cupping, and then rubbed what was left in his palm down the shaft of his cock. With the help of the oil, the Hooligan could practically count the pulse in the veins along Dagur’s hard flesh… and as the young man’s hand yanked up a couple times around himself, spreading the balm all across his thick length… Hiccup’s inexperienced curiosity jumped all at once to _enticement_.

            A sudden shiver snapped at his skin like an electric shock, making the little teen squirm slightly, hips arching up just a bit. Dagur noticed. Hiccup cringed at himself. But remarkably, the Bersker made no comment… well, unless grinning like a smug son of a troll counts. Which in Hiccup’s book, it _did_ , and he was about to comment back in kind with a sardonic, _yeah-yeeaahh_ expression in his eyes. 

            But instead, Hiccup’s eyes rolled back, and a startled yap was smothered in his gag, legs jolting and blood on _fire_ … because there was an entire finger suddenly plunging into him, rhythmically jabbing in and out, _hard_.

            It was cold and slick and wasn’t alone for damn long. Another finger started digging its way in, doubling the width and making the tied teen’s head jerk to either side. Dagur’s fingers stretched apart inside him, and the sensation was sharp, but _gods_ it made his toes curl and fists ball and muffled voice bleat in helpless _pleasure_. When his sight came back into focus, after a few desperate blinks, the gasping teen saw that Dagur was watching him, with a bit of a grit to his jaw and an eager glaze to his eyes. His face twitched a little with every other thrust of his fingers, and as the skinny Hooligan’s limbs wriggled and chest arched up and groans jumped to the pattern of motion inside him, Dagur’s breathing got heavier and heavier, patience draining from his expression.

            His third finger slipped in with less resistance than the second, and Hiccup’s own fingers were wringing at grass blades, mind going numb and eyes clenching tight.

            How did he not know about this?? He’d had _no_ idea it was _possible_ to feel this way, better than any night alone with his own touch, or vague dream that woke him with a wet spot in his pants. He’d never let a touch _invade_ him before, never even thought of it, and now here he was _writhing_ to the beat of the thrusts inside him, kind of loving the at first strange feeling of being _filled_.

            It was hard to pinpoint any sudden, exact moment that Hiccup felt an explosion of erotic bliss. It just built steadily upwards, with brushing and pushing against sensitive inner walls. One spot Dagur flicked against made the Hooligan heir kick and whine, and the spastic movement working deeper and deeper into him, and the fact of just being so powerless to resist or even really move… all of it was getting him off like _crazy._

            And maybe if he weren’t so lost in sensation, he would have guessed a little sooner just where all this was headed…

            The only chance he had to actually put two and two together was when Dagur’s fingers suddenly pulled out of him, and his sticky hands snatched Hiccup’s hips, pulling up and flipping the smaller boy over. Knees banging hard on the ground, Hiccup was twisted haphazardly, his upper half angled sideways while the lower faced downward – until Dagur shoved his upper back down, forcing his torso to the ground, while his backside was all that his knees propped up.

            Firm, greased flesh slid against the crease of Hiccup’s rear. Dagur’s hips collided with his own. And with huge eyes, Hiccup finally grasped what the Berserker chief’s end-goal was here.

            But amazingly… it didn’t really daunt him.

            Okay well that was kind of a lie, he was more than a little apprehensive. Three fingers had _nothing_ on that, that _thing_ between Dagur’s legs! This was gonna be a _squeeze_ , to say the fucking least!

            But being pried open with Dagur’s tongue and fingers… it set off a gamut of sensations so new and so… well, so damn _good_ … something he’d never even known he’d been missing out on until now. And the idea of _more_ pressure, _more_ size and weight, just _more_ inside of him… yeah Hiccup was actually all for that right about now.

            He felt his cheeks being pressed apart, and in another second, Hiccup got just what he wanted – which it turned out was maybe a bigger bite than he could chew right off the bat.

            Dagur was never the greatest at preambles. He was more of a guy to cut to the chase (“cut” usually meant in the most literal sense). So really, he’d done a pretty good job of prepping Hiccup up to this point, all things considered. But it all veered a bit on the _hurry-up-and-get-loose-so-we-can-fuck-already_ side. And now that he was finally pushing into Hiccup, he did absolutely zero dallying in getting himself _all the damn way_ in.

            A voiceless scream caught in Hiccup’s throat, coming out only as a painful squeak, whole body flinching under the Berserker. Dagur didn’t wait to give a heavy thrust of his hips. The shocking pressure was almost too much, almost enough to make the dragon rider beg Dagur to stop – if he could. But even with the discomfort came that unparalleled sense of piercing motion within… and you know what, it was kind of like the whiplash from your first, sudden dive through the sky on dragon-back.

            Those first few seconds before you know what you’re doing or where you’re going, unused to the harsh air slamming in your face, feeling like you’re definitely going to fall and die and you’re probably not even going to Valhalla, because your valor points are in the damn _negatives_ – those first seconds are pretty terrifying! But almost immediately following them, you start to notice you’re still here, still strapped on and still kicking. And you start letting yourself get into the _rush_ of plummeting downward, and before you know it you’re grinning against the wind and whooping and having the time of your damn life.

            So yeah, this kind of hurt and it was kind of a little bit really scary. But there was a whole ride ahead, and thrilled anticipation was already beginning to elbow out the preliminary discomfort.

            One of Dagur’s hands grabbed at the back of Hiccup’s neck, the other gripping his thigh to keep it in place while he started rocking, going at a jogging tempo already. He’d pull back partway, leaving Hiccup half empty, and slam back in, sending spastic fits along the other boy’s spindly body.

            The Berserker’s knees overlapped Hiccup’s bare ones, everything from their waists down flush together. Grass crackled, clothes rustled, but Dagur’s grunting breaths and Hiccup’s own shrill gasps were all the smaller of them could hear. Beneath his left-turned forehead was damp earth, against his love-nipped chest crinkling plant stems, and behind him heat, heat and weight and the severest pleasure pangs. They rooted from where Dagur rammed relentlessly into him, and they prickled along his skin and rushed through his thudding blood, and ran his brain in circles until it couldn’t even tell the difference between up and down anymore.

            Dagur started going faster, forcing Hiccup’s sprawled form forward roughly with every smash of hips against him. And the little chief-to-be, he was starting to see little stars pop and fizzle out in the sky behind his eyelids. The older boy yanked the younger up suddenly by the back of his collar, until Hiccup was propped on his elbows, back forcefully arched. Haggard breath and sloppy kisses made their way over Hiccup’s neck and shoulder blades, or what was exposed of them from the loose collar of his still rolled-up tunic. The Berserker’s breathing was like an untamed beast’s, grunting and panting while his blunt fangs tore into his little prey’s skin.

            There was something primal and wild to the way Dagur fucked him. Every nip and hair-pull and thigh-squeeze was at once possessive and… worshipping. He dug his fist so tight into Hiccup’s sweat-damp locks, wrenching his head until his teeth could reach around the boy’s soft earlobe. His fierce hold was like a pirate’s grip on a treasure chest, a monarch on his throne, a soldier on his weapon… like the thing in his grasp was more than a boon, but something that _defined_ him…

            And with a weird clarity in the mayhem, some still conscious part of Hiccup began to surmise… this was why he was tied. This was why he was barely allowed to move, why he was the one half-stripped and facing the ground. The man behind him, shoving in and out of him at a hectic pace, cut off every way out because he _needed_ Hiccup, like an admiral needs an armada or an executioner needs a neck.

            He wanted them _inseparable_.

            And Hiccup was so far gone into his own game of pretenses… the message of _possession_ in Dagur’s touches only made the flame in his gut all the stronger, the throbbing between his legs all the more unbearable… and the blind pleasure all the more _violent_.

            He could swear there was an actual, beast-like _snarl_ in his ear before the boy’s world was suddenly overturned again, as Dagur pulled back and turned him over once more. Skinny legs were upheld in the sinewy bulge of the Berserker’s arms, the Hooligan heir’s entire lower body hoisted right off the ground, anchored wrists and upper back dragging until his hips were forcibly realigned with the young man’s. Dagur held him there by the hips with both hands, bucking violently while the boy’s legs thrashed over broad, metal-padded shoulders. His half-open upward gaze was sideways, flustered with _desire_ , and his muzzled fussing started resembling breathy _shrieks_.

            The man above him never broke his feral stare away, teeth bared like something inhuman ferociously claiming its territory – Hiccup would not have even been surprised if the guy just stopped and beat his chest and _howled_ for a while. He was looking more and more undone by the second, closer and closer to a total, _savage_ loss of self-control. Dagur abruptly grabbed at the boy’s erection, loosely pumping it to the time of his thrusts.

            Hiccup could feel himself jerk upwards as his body started plummeting helplessly towards climax. He was writhing and fighting leather-clad shouts all the way down, to the very last step. Then there was a groan from above, and a burst of thick, tidal heat flooded his insides. It sent the boy into a reeling fit, screaming and banging his bound body spastically between the ground and the man pounding his seed deep into him.

            Intense release charged through Hiccup, like his body was a living conduit for Thor’s flashing rage, and for a few fleeting seconds there wasn’t a single thought in his head. He could only describe what was happening to his flesh and blood as _bliss_ , a little piece of Valhalla bursting right out from his very skin.

            It left him panting and listless for several seconds in the trembling aftermath of the damn orgasm-of-the-century. The flesh still inside him slid out, hips dropped and falling limply down the older boy’s thighs. Fingers worked the metal clasp of Dagur’s belt loose, and the leather around Hiccup’s mouth was opened, freeing an exhilarated gasp from his lips. A few breaths were all he managed to suck in before Dagur was stealing his mouth’s freedom again, shackling it to his own in a raunchy kiss.

            And in the post mini-trip-to-heaven glaze, Hiccup angled himself upwards, his only free limbs hooking desperately at Dagur’s hips… and he kissed him back. _Eagerly_.

            But somewhere in the heavy lip brushing, a giggle started breaking through. The cackle was low and light against Hiccup’s lips, but unmistakable, and Hiccup started to freeze, eyes starting to blink away the fantasy he’d started to fall into headfirst… a fantasy of safety, of mutual respect, and… and...

            Dagur didn’t touch the bola at Hiccup’s wrists. Their mouths parted as the laughter broke out too hard to keep them together, the Hooligan’s eyes already wide open before the kiss ended. The Berserker’s teeth drove over Hiccup’s chin.

            “Know what this makes you?” he whispered hoarsely. The other boy brought himself to shake his head, though he was starting to feel something of the answer in Dagur’s controlling grasp on him.

            “ _Mine_.”

            The cackle resurfaced, just as fringed at the ends with total insanity as ever. His face was traveling downward, laying over the Hooligan’s chest almost tenderly. “Mine,” he repeated softly, fists digging hard around Hiccup’s forearms. And he probably thought Hiccup was breathing so hard from exhaustion, didn’t see the slow-spreading unease in the smaller boy’s face – that from some angles looked almost like _dread_ …

            There was one question Hiccup hadn’t asked before going along with Dagur’s advances.

            What did Dagur really want from him?

            His libido was clear right from the first kiss. And his own _special_ idea of camaraderie came through in all his bursting of Hiccup’s personal bubble, not to mention the gushing over Hiccup’s _fabricated_ story.

            But Hiccup hadn’t stopped to consider, in all his on-the-spot calculations, whether it really was just carnal need driving Dagur’s touch, or a mere boyish infatuation gluing him to his side. He hadn’t considered what was expected of him _after_ this one round, or whether any of this was supposed to actually _mean_ something beyond one reckless night.

            And then Hiccup had let himself forget who Dagur _was_ – just for a while, just to protect himself in something he really _didn’t_ have a choice over. But in those disarmed moments, he’d felt so powerfully the obsessive _need_ from Dagur to hold him, fuck him, mark his skin and make him _his_.

            At the time, it made the younger boy feel… treasured. Wanted, wanted more than anything, _needed_ …

            And in a crazy, kind of fucked-up way… loved.

            He was in this so deep over his head, it was a struggle just to organize his reactive emotions. There was humiliation, cursing at him for letting even a second’s delusion of actual _feelings_ into this. There was frustration, some at himself, more at the man who still wouldn’t untie the bola pinning him down, whom Hiccup had always known was certifiably _bonkers_ , but how did this crazy fuck get off thinking he could just torment someone half their life and then suddenly decide they’re his damn soul-mate or whatever?? There was confusion, because this little detail completely blind-sided him, right up until he was almost _believing_ in its legitimacy.

            But more than anything, there was a kind of fear… a gnawing anxiety at how _completely_ Hiccup had managed to _kid_ himself for a second there, all mastermind tricks and plans having dropped away with his last shreds of dignity, everything but the naïve, senseless trust in a show of affection from a _dragon killer_ , from his personal childhood bully...

            How could he just… forget? How could he have let every last drop of reason just drain from him like that?

            He’d only wanted to relax… just to make it better for him. But it had cost him the only control he’d had in the situation – his distrust. His pretenses.

            For just a few minutes… he’d let it become _real_ for him.

            For a few minutes, Dagur had really _had_ him.

            “Come on.”

            The young man finally untwined the throw-weapon from around Hiccup’s wrists. He sprang up to his feet, fixing his belt back around his trousers and gathering up the weapons he’d dropped aside.

            “Let’s go get us that Night Fury!”

            His eyes had their usual craze. Hiccup stared up into them, halting the slow rubbing of his bruised wrists.

            “W…what?” the Hooligan heir asked weakly.

            “Nothing like a hunt,” Dagur rasped with a grin, “after a fuck.”

            The smaller boy didn’t move.

            “…Hang on, but, um, aren’t you—I mean, I’m, I’m pretty wiped out, you know?”

            Hiccup made himself half smile, pleadingly. He felt a little sick.

            The Berserker paused. He walked back to Hiccup, dropping down to his level again. Taking hold of his still open legs, Dagur just stroked at his thighs for a second, gazing at him with whatever affection psychopaths are capable of.

            “So nap it out,” he said lightly. “And I’ll get the Night Fury. Then when I come back with its head,” Dagur pulled the boy closer to him, concealing the real reason for the Hooligan’s little gasp and startled eyes, “we go for round two.”

            He let Hiccup go, and picked up his crossbow. The boy on the ground was pale.

            The whole point of this escapade, the foremost reason Hiccup had done this… was to keep Toothless and his kin safe. And all he’d accomplished was a little delay.

            So, hang on. Did he actually just lose his virginity to a psychotic dragon hunter… for _nothing_??

            Did he just let a man trying to _kill_ his best friend not only fuck him, but have him believing for a few seconds—that—that… and just for him to turn right around and go back to the hunt… 

            Another emotion joined the troubled swirl in his head, something rare to the young dragon rider – _anger_.

            “Wait Dagur, wait I… I’m coming too.”

-

            He kept standing too close and making unsettling intimations. Even the other riders noticed it. Each and every touch and grab and nudge made it harder to keep a smile awkwardly plastered on, harder and harder to keep even another second of this up…

            Hiccup was snapping, slowly, and finding it just a little hard to care anymore.

            “ _Okay, that’s it_ …”

            He didn’t even shout. The seething inside came out cold.

            “ _Your father lied to me!_ ”

            All that mattered was that he stay calm. Collected.

            In control.

            “ _He was trying to keep the peace between our tribes. So was I._ ”

            Hiccup was risking everything and he didn’t care. He was tired of playing along. He was tired of trying to hide Toothless, and coming up with excuse after excuse to get Dagur’s attention away from him.

            And he wanted Dagur to know the truth.

            He wanted him to know who was _really_ in control.

            “ _By making a fool out of me?!_ ”

            No desperate explanations, no pleading for peace. He had Toothless with him now. He was armed.

            “ _You don’t really need a lot of help with that, Dagur_.”

            And the look on Dagur’s face said he’d hit his mark. Right through the heart.

            “… _You could have been my brother, Hiccup. Now you’re my enemy._ ”

            War. An imminent duel.

            Hiccup _did not care_.

            “ _Have it your way_.”

            Metal clashed. Plasma fumed.

            Stalemate.

            The Berserker ships parted in the opposite direction as the Berk dragons. Green eyes looked back, tense, auburn bangs whipping in front of them. Another set of green eyes glared forward, wild, winged silhouettes against moonlight reflecting in them.

            And it was never known how the war between the Rider and the Killer really began.


End file.
